Lie to Me
by Blue-Five
Summary: Truth is a word that's lost its meaning - Depeche Mode
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: All chapters of this work are fiction using characters from the Teen Wolf (MTV) universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).**

* * *

Jackson knows the minute his client turns toward him in the car that it's going to be bad. The stun gun shoots fire up his side as the door lock clicks. As the night wears on, Jackson wishes it had been a real gun. Death seems the better option.

* * *

Jackson wakes later. He tries to move but everything feels broken. He tastes blood. It brings back a flash of the first hit and sudden tears well up. The tears are from fear. Pain can be endured but Jackson hates being afraid. He hates being weak. The sound of someone choking and making odd croaking noises reaches Jackson's ears. It takes him a moment to realize _he_ is the one making the noise. He cries a little more before darkness claims him.

Jackson wakes to the sound of a siren. He tries to sit up but a firm hand presses against his shoulder. Jackson whines in fear as his brain tells him he's strapped down. He thrashes, crying out at the pain that releases. He realizes someone is talking to him.

"Easy, handsome … easy … you're safe … not gonna hurt you," a soft voice reassures him.

Jackson tries to turn his head toward the voice but he can't move his neck. Tears squeeze out from behind swollen lids. Knuckles gently brush over his forehead.

"Easy … that's the neck brace. You've been hurt pretty bad …" A pause follows and then the voice continues. "Jackson. You're pretty lucky, handsome … you got found just in time."

Handsome? Jackson thinks the guy must be blind. He can't see himself but he can feel … and what he feels is anything _but_ handsome. His tongue runs over jagged broken teeth. He has an oxygen mask over his face because he can't breathe through his broken nose. His jaw is definitely broken. Jackson feels more tears work their way out of his eyes. Again, the light brush of knuckles across his forehead.

"Shh … it's gonna be ok, Jackson. You just gotta fight, ok? Whoever did this didn't finish the job … don't give up. Don't let them win," a face drifts into his line of sight. Strangely bright amber eyes look down at him from a face that is both good-looking and kind. Jackson finds himself calming somewhat and wishing he could talk. His head hurts so bad, however, that he's having issues concentrating. Jackson's vision blurs and he falls into black.

Jackson drifts between wakefulness and the cold dark. He hears the familiar voice yelling stats and the laundry list of his injuries. It surprises him – to him the voice had been soft … gentle … kind. Now it is harsh and commanding. Jackson knows he – whoever the man is – expects action to be taken based on his words. Jackson feels himself moving … the gurney beneath him rattles and vibrates as it moves across the floor. He sees brief snatches of the face from before.

Jackson's foggy mind fills him in slowly on events. He was hurt by a client, someone found him and he rode in an ambulance to the hospital. He knows the man is a paramedic. Jackson wishes he could have met the guy elsewhere. He's cute. A broken sob escapes him as he realizes nothing is going to be the same after this – _he_ will never be the same.

A soft touch grazes the inside of his wrist and Jackson sees the amber eyes looking at him. The man winks.

"Hang in there, Jackson. You'll be ok … I know a fighter when I see one."

Jackson's fingers convulsively grasp for the man's hand and he finds it. It's warm and strong. Jackson wonders if he would have even noticed the man before last night. He wonders why he cares and closes his eyes. Jackson knows his choices may have cost him everything.

Jackson can't stop the soft cry of pain that breaks free when he moves onto the operating table. He hears an urgent discussion and then the kind face is in his line of sight again.

"Gotta go, Jackson," the voice says. "I'll check in on you later, ok? _Don't give up_."

The hand closes around his own again, tighter this time. Jackson whimpers when it's withdrawn but then darkness claims him.

* * *

Jackson drifts up to reality against his will. He fights opening his eyes but panics when he eventually gives in and only one opens. A beep speeds up somewhere over his head and a nurse walks in and glances first at the monitor and then at him. She smiles.

"Welcome back, Jackson," she says. "You've been in and out for about three days but I'll let your doctor know you're awake. Just relax, ok?"

Jackson seethes. How does everyone know his name but he knows no one? It's very annoying. He wants to glare but one eye probably doesn't have the same impact. The nurse seems oblivious to his distress because she keeps talking.

"My name is Melissa. I'll be here for a few more hours before the day shift, ok?"

Jackson wonders how the hell she expects him to answer but then it becomes apparent she doesn't. Melissa fills the silence with inane chatter Jackson only partially pays attention to – it's when it stops he realizes she left. Jackson sighs inwardly. Sleep is a long time coming.

* * *

Jackson's doctor visits the next day. His name is Derek Hale and Jackson thinks he's probably one of the finest specimens of the male form he's seen in a _long_ time. His own clients were wide and varied in appearance as well as temperament but none of them were like this.

_Some I hardly knew at all, apparently, _Jackson thinks ruefully.

"Mr. Whittemore," Hale says, glancing at a tablet, which apparently has his information on it. "I can easily say you are very lucky not to be in the morgue."

Jackson somehow manages to make a sarcastic _'you think?'_ sound which makes Derek look up with narrowed eyes. He looks back down at the chart and shakes his head.

"You were beaten fairly severely, Mr. Whittemore … I can give you the list but, while the damage was great, I think you will eventually recover. What I don't know is whether or not you'll retain sight in your left eye or regain full motor skills," Derek says steadily.

Jackson drags in a shocked breath. He knows that he was hurt badly, knew one eye was bandaged over. Both arms were broken trying to protect his head and face although he'd already taken a couple of blows and was barely conscious at the time. The thought that he isn't going to be able to go back to his life normally … whatever passed for his version of normal life, anyway … is shocking and steals his breath.

Derek sees that his words have stunned the young man into paying attention. He sighs. "I won't lie to you if you drop the attitude, alright? Before we go any farther, do you have family? Someone we can contact on your behalf. All the police found was your wallet – driver's license and a condom."

Jackson wants to move his head side to side in a simple shake but his neck is still immobilized. So he just drops his gaze and hears Derek exhale.

"Alright then … just between us, you do have a concerned visitor," Derek offers.

Jackson looks up and thinks he frowns in confusion. His face doesn't feel like his face so he isn't sure. Derek motions toward the door.

"One of the EMTs that brought you in … his name is Stiles. He's a good guy … he's been pestering me for information about your condition," Derek says. "Which I haven't provided. Stiles is nothing if not persistent, trust me."

Jackson blinks. _Stiles_. That's the name of the good-looking guy in the ambulance … the one with the whiskey-colored eyes. He wishes he could talk but Derek seems to already know what he's thinking.

"Ok … basic code: one blink for yes, two for no. Got it?"

Jackson blinks once slowly.

"Do you want Stiles to have visitation rights? I can't let God and country traipse through here but one or two is allowable," Derek asks.

One blink. Jackson thinks he's lost his mind completely if he's letting some strange guy he met _in an ambulance_ be his one visitor. But Stiles had been kind and was obviously concerned which is so far out of Jackson's ken he's intrigued in spite of the circumstances.

Jackson endures the rest of his exam with Derek and learns that he's going to be a long time recovering. The prospect is worse than frightening … Jackson finds himself terrified. He hides this from Derek, however, preferring to keep his façade of disinterest in his own fate. He can have a meltdown later when he's alone. Derek says he'll be back to check on Jackson regularly and his eyes, like Stiles', are sincere.

Sobered by his circumstances, Jackson is lost in thought when a light tap comes to the door. A smiley face balloon drifts into the room followed by an arm then the rest of EMT Stiles. Jackson feels his stomach clench when Stiles' gaze finds him and the amber eyes light up and a smile widens beneath them. It's been so long since _anyone _was glad to see Jackson he barely recognizes the expression. A sudden uncertainty fills Jackson as he realizes what he must look like buried beneath bandages and swelling. It throws him off-balance because his looks are Jackson's armor and sword. No one ever looks beyond the blue-green eyes, full lips or freckle-sprinkled nose unless it's to check out his other attributes. Stiles, however, doesn't seem bothered by it at all.

"Dude, finally woke up, huh? Derek said you gave me permission to visit so ta-da!"

Jackson can at least ROLL his one eye. He gets a small laugh out of Stiles and finds that he likes the sound. Stiles settles into a chair beside the bed as if Jackson isn't some male escort he kept alive with a wing and a prayer in the back of an ambulance a few days ago. He ties the balloon onto the rail of Jackson's bed. Jackson suspects it will be moved but maybe he can persuade Melissa to keep it in his line of sight at least. If he can figure out how to communicate without being able to make much more than grunts. His situation strikes him hard again and Jackson fights back the tears. Stiles is looking at his physical chart and absently talking.

"So handsome, gonna be cops coming to see you tomorrow and -"

The monitor jumps as Jackson's heart begins to pound madly. He whimpers - the most noise he's made since the ride here. Stiles murmurs gentle words as he leans over Jackson.

"Whoa whoa ... Slow your roll, handsome ... Easy ... it's ok, it's ok … I'm here ...you're ok ... Easy ..."

Jackson finds himself soothing beneath the young man's touch. He shivers and Stiles resettles the blanket over him. Stiles brushes a finger or two through the locks of hair that fall over Jackson's forehead. Jackson feels the tears break free. Stiles _tsks_ and a thumb drifts over his cheek.

"Hey … you don't have to be afraid. Just so happens I know the sheriff and he'll be the one talking to you, ok? He's a good guy," Stiles assures Jackson.

Jackson rolls his eye again, trying to rebuild his nonchalant attitude. Stiles smiles. "Guess you never had a good rapport with the cops, huh?"

Two blinks.

"Not really … yeah, Derek told me about your little code-talking. Look, Jackson, he's my dad … you can trust him. He'll do right by you. Besides … don't you want to put this yahoo in jail?"

Jackson considers. He'd actually like to beat the living hell out of the 'yahoo' with a tire iron. Or the fucking baton he used on Jackson in the confines of the car. Instead, Jackson drops his gaze again and doesn't offer any insight to Stiles. He's surprised when Stiles strokes just below his chin. He looks up without thinking.

"Not your fault, Jackson. I get that it's a thin line between rape and reluctance but this … he nearly killed you, handsome. Do you really think he's going to stop with you?" Stiles asks.

Tears again. Jackson would curse long and loud if he could. He _hates_ looking weak and since he met this man, that seems to be _all_ he can do. "Just listen to what my dad has to say, Jackson. It'll be ok. Promise."

Jackson wishes he could believe him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Stiles, are you out of your mind?" Scott complains.

"What? I was just being nice!" Stiles replies.

"And it didn't occur to you that getting involved with one of our 'rides' was a bad idea?" Scott groans.

"I'm not _involved_ Scotty … I gave him a balloon and I talked him into speaking with my dad," Stiles retorts. "Not exactly a seduction scenario."

Scott sighs. His friend and partner is possessed of a tender heart that refuses to see the bad until it's too late. Scott thought Stiles would never recover from Matt. It's only been seven months since that fiasco. Scott dreads watching Stiles set himself up again.

"So after he's released, then what?"

Stiles frowns. "You know, I have no idea. He doesn't have any family from what Derek said."

"I still can't believe Derek gave you permission to visit him," Scott sighs.

"I'm impossible to resist, you know this," Stiles says with a grin. "You just found Allison before I came into my superpowers."

Scott chuckles and rolls his eyes. He sobers and looks at Stiles. "Stiles, you're my best friend. Don't … I mean, he's probably an ok guy but remember where we found Jackson – in an alley where he'd been dumped by his john after getting the hell beaten out of him.

Stiles' eyes narrow. "Yeah … and there's no way I'd _ever_ understand that."

"Stiles, that's not what I meant …"

"Thanks for the concern, but I got this, ok?" Stiles says flatly.

Scott falls silent before he makes things worse. Stiles refuses to talk to anyone about what Matt did to him but Scott will never forget the phone call he received at two in the morning seven months ago. Scott knows he never wants to hear Stiles that afraid again. He nods and climbs back in the cab. Stiles secures all the doors and gets in the passenger side. They pull out of the bay in silence and are a few blocks down the road before Stiles talks again.

"I know you're just worried about me, Scotty … but I've gotta pay this one forward. I had you, Derek, my dad … Jackson doesn't have anybody," Stiles explained quietly. "I'm not going to get all moony over the guy … I just want to let him know he's not alone."

"Just be careful, Stiles," Scott says softly.

"Hey, you know me … safe as houses," Stiles replies.

The radio squawks and Stiles reaches over to respond. Since Matt, Stiles wears the long-sleeved version of their uniform no matter what the temperature is outside. The sleeve pulls up as Stiles stretches and Scott sees a peek of one of several shiny scars he knows dot Stiles' body. Scott forces his eyes back to the road and listens to the call. They have a job to do now.

* * *

Once his shift is over, Stiles drops by the hospital again. He stops by the nurses station to talk to Melissa. She looks up and smiles at him.

"Hey, Stiles … let me guess – Jackson?"

Stiles shrugs. "He seems lonely."

"Uh-huh …and this has nothing to do with Matt?" Melissa asks.

"Fuck, I'm going to kill Scott … did he call you?" Stiles barks.

Melissa leans forward and spears Stiles with a look. "Don't take that tone or that language with _me_, Stiles Stilinski … I washed and fed you for the better half of your life. You are half of the gray hairs on my head. You're as much my kid as Scott and if I want to be a worried mother hen over you, I will be – got it?"

Stiles swallows. "Yes, ma'am."

"Scott didn't say anything to me, but I'm glad to see he's looking out for you too," Melissa says softly. "I know you're a big boy now … but Jackson has a lot of emotional issues that reach far beyond his physical trauma. One will heal on schedule … the other? He might not ever work through his problems. I don't want you to get dragged down into that."

"I know, Melissa … and I appreciate it, I really do. But like I told Scott … I had people to pull me outta the quicksand. Who's he got?" Stiles replies, gesturing toward Jackson's room. "If I promise to be emotionally distant, can I see him?"

Melissa snorts. "As if you could ever, kid … get in there."

Stiles leans over the counter and presses a quick kiss to Melissa's cheek before bounding down the hall. Just outside the door, he checks himself and enters a little more sedately. Jackson looks over when the door opens. He can't explain the warmth that spreads through him at the broad smile Stiles gives him.

"Hey! Just got off shift, wanted to see how you were holding up … did you talk to my dad?"

Jackson blinks slowly.

_Yes, I did and what a painful process __that__ was,_ Jackson thinks.

Jackson's hand twitches. Stiles automatically moves to his side and takes gentle hold of it. Stiles amber eyes meet the one blue-green pupil visible and Jackson closes his fingers around two of Stiles' in a soft squeeze. Stiles continues to smile but then he looks down with wide eyes.

"Jackson … can you work your fingers?"

Jackson clenches the fingers to say 'yes' along with a single blink. Stiles whoops in glee.

"Dude! Wait right here … I mean, where would you go otherwise? Just don't move – I mean, how would you?" Stiles forces himself to stop and focus. "I will be back in a bit. I have an idea."

Jackson watches the young man dart out of the room. He'd been a little taken aback by the flurry of motion following the unremarkable revelation that he could move his fingers, but Jackson decides he'll just wait and see what 'idea' Stiles has. Not like he's going anywhere.

* * *

Stiles comes back into the room a half-hour later carrying an iPad. The young man moves to Jackson's side and puts the iPad beneath his hand. Taking Jackson's hand, he gently taps the fingers against the surface. **_dot dot dot dash dash dash dot dot dot_**

Abruptly the speaker responds with "SOS", startling Jackson. Stiles grins.

"I don't know if you know Morse –"

**_dash dot dash dash dot dot dot dot … "Yes"_**

Jackson wishes he could grin at the look of surprise that crosses Stiles' face. Jackson knows a lot about many things although he isn't sure if he's an expert on anything. Well … maybe sex. _That _area Jackson knows he has skills. Or he did. He feels his mood fall again. Stiles notices.

"Hey … what's wrong?"

**_Nothing. Tired._**

Stiles considers this and nods. "Yeah, you've still got a bit before you're back to top shape."

Jackson drops his gaze and then feels Stiles' hand on his own again. "Remember what I told you, handsome. Don't let whoever did this finish the job … don't give up."

Jackson looks at the eyes that seem to almost glow with sincerity and wonders how it sounds so easy when Stiles says it.

**_Tomorrow?_**

Jackson thinks he might actually blush at the blinding grin that steals across Stiles' face.

"See ya then, handsome!"

Jackson sleeps without dreams that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Stiles stops by the nurses station when he hears his name. Melissa is on duty and he frowns at her concerned expression.

"What's up, madre McCall?" Stiles asks.

Melissa pulls Stiles off to the side.

"Jackson had a very difficult day," Melissa warns.

"What happened?" Stiles asks, suddenly worried.

It's been three months since the incident. Stiles visits Jackson nearly every day and texts when he can't be there. He's come to care about the young man a lot … he knows probably more than he should. Still, Jackson is smarter than he lets on – he buries it beneath sarcasm and a wicked dry wit. They play off one another … Scott says he can't handle being in the same room with them because he can't keep up. Derek implies the same, which amuses both Stiles and Jackson immensely. In the three months, Jackson has suffered only a handful of 'bad days' – all of them physical. Melissa's concern implies this is different.

"Jackson had several of the facial bandages removed today," Melissa explains.

Stiles doesn't wait to hear any farther … he goes down the hall at a fast clip until he's in Jackson's room. He sees what he expects … Jackson restrained and sedated. Stiles sighs and sits down beside the bed, taking Jackson's fingers in his own.

"Wish I'd known, handsome … woulda been here," Stiles murmurs, gently stroking over the back of Jackson's hand.

Jackson is a vain creature. Stiles realized this during the first few days they talked. Stiles knows Jackson ignored the probable reality of his situation because he's been wrapped like a mummy for weeks. The reality is that he isn't going to look like he used to … and on top of all the other massive physical changes in his life, Stiles guesses it was too much.

"He fought like a wildcat," Melissa murmurs behind him. "Took four nurses to get him held down long enough for Derek to get the injection into the IV. He was crying the entire time … and asking for you."

"Damn it, why didn't Derek tell me today was _that_ day? Not like he doesn't know how Jackson feels about his looks," Stiles grouses.

"You were on shift, Stiles. Jackson isn't your responsibility … you can't keep rearranging your life around him," Melissa says.

Stiles falls silent and then looks up at her. "Maybe … maybe I _want_ him to be my responsibility."

Melissa sighs. "I guessed as much … you two have been thick as thieves since the attack. He won't talk much the days you can't visit."

Stiles blushes. "It's not … I didn't _mean_ to like him so much."

"Oh, Stiles … you and your heart. I feel more gray hairs coming on," Melissa smiles.

* * *

Jackson wakes slowly. He hears a light snore and his eyes track until they land on Stiles. Jackson feels that his hands are free. In fact, Stiles holds one of them where he rests his head on crossed arms. Jackson moves the hand slightly and Stiles jerks up.

"Huh … wha -? Jackson?!" Stiles blinks owlishly as he comes fully awake.

Jackson just looks at the young man. Stiles smiles at him and stands but doesn't release his hand. Stiles picks up the iPad and slides it beneath the other hand. Jackson takes a hitching breath and taps, not looking away from Stiles' gaze.

**_Ugly._**

"Not seein' it, Jackson. Swollen? Bruised? Busted up? Yeah … but ugly? Don't see that," Stiles says softly.

**_Obviously blind._**

Stiles laughs. "Maybe. It's gonna take a while … you knew that going in. Why the theatrics?"

Jackson glares. Over the past few weeks, he's gotten to know Stiles better and he wishes his jaw wasn't broken because he can't tap fast enough to really get into a verbal battle with Stiles. He wants to spar on equal footing because he feels off-center with Stiles. The paramedic won't let him retreat behind familiar defensive walls.

**_Fuck you._**

"Obvious joke aside, go ahead and say what's on your mind," Stiles says gently.

When Jackson remains silent, Stiles sits again. Jackson notices he never let go of his hand.

**_Why me?_**

Stiles looks directly at Jackson. "Cuz I like you, Jackson. I've seen your driver's license shot … you're a hottie. I get that … and while I appreciate your obvious stunning looks, I don't come here every chance because of your pretty eyes."

Jackson rolls the one that Stiles can see. **_Not such a hottie now._**

"You will be … dude, you got worked over with a fucking collapsible _police baton_. Rodney King didn't look so pretty after that either … you have to let yourself heal," Stiles chides. "You might have a few scars where you don't want them, but you're _alive_. That's what matters."

Jackson feels his anger flair suddenly. He shoves the iPad off the bed and forces his throat to work. He's been practicing whenever Stiles isn't there, planning to surprise him. Right now, he just wants to make a point.

"Alive … doesn't matter …. no john wants ugly …. **_whore_**!"

Jackson's words slur and his throat hurts after just that much usage, but Jackson glares at Stiles, willing him to hear what he said. Stiles has some bullshit vision of Jackson as a decent guy and he's _not_. He's broken and now the one thing he had is gone – his looks will never be the same after this. Jackson knows his regulars will move on to others. His apartment, a gift from a john, will probably be gone by the time he gets out of here. Along with the car and all the other 'gifts' from men he serviced. Jackson knows he won't be able to pay for the plastic surgery he's going to need so why pretend it's all going to be better?

Instead of shouting back at him, Stiles walks over and picks up the iPad. The edge is cracked but it looks like it still works. He sets it down carefully on the nightstand and then looks at Jackson. He leans in close and Jackson realizes Stiles is holding back a great deal of anger.

"I'm not one of your johns, Jackson … and yeah, you being alive _does_ matter. You understand me? It fucking matters to _me_ if you're here or not!" Stiles growls.

Jackson watches as Stiles turns and walks out. He stares at the ceiling for a long time in silence. Melissa pauses after checking his vitals later in silence. She doesn't look at him as she speaks.

"Stiles is like a stained glass window inside, Jackson. Stunningly beautiful to look at but so fragile it only takes a single stone to break him. Don't be the one that shatters him, Jackson – he's already been to hell and back."

Jackson doesn't ask or make a sound and Melissa leaves. Sleep avoids him.

* * *

Stiles draws into himself and says little to Scott the next day. Scott doesn't press but he wants to throttle Jackson. It's the only explanation for Stiles' somber mood. When Stiles doesn't go to the hospital to visit Jackson that night or the next, Scott knows it must have been bad. He shows up unannounced Friday night with pizza _Remo Williams_. Stiles hesitates but lets him in with a loud sigh.

"Can't even throw a pity party by myself anymore," Stiles grumbles.

Scott snorts. "As if … gooey cheese, not a single vegetable and Master Chiun's teachings … "

Stiles grins. "Fine, you win. I'll get the sodas, get it queued up."

Scott watches Stiles walk to the kitchen. He's wearing a regular t-shirt and Scott can see the scars that line his arms. The one toward the top of Stiles' back peeks out over the shirt collar. Stiles' thick hair covers the scar left from the blow to the head. Scott shivers and sets up the DVD. His eyes dart to the spot where he'd found Stiles barely conscious and naked. All his experience as an EMT and Scott will never forget the sudden nausea that threatened when Stiles begged him not to call the cops. Broken, bleeding and half-dead – Stiles was still trying to protect Matt. Scott decides that Jackson Whittemore is an idiot.

* * *

Derek Hale glances up and sighs when he sees Stiles. Twelve days ago, Jackson Whittemore sent Stiles on a bad downward spiral. Derek had a call or two from Stiles and they'd taken in a couple of movies together just to keep Stiles' mind busy. Unfortunately, Derek knows Stiles too well and he isn't surprised to see him.

"Sure you want to do this, Stiles?" Derek asks, making a notation on a chart.

"What do you think, Derek?" Stiles replies.

Derek meets the amber gaze quietly. "I know you're an adult, Stiles … but I don't want to see you hurt again."

"Aww, care about me, Dr. Sexy?" Stiles asks teasingly.

Derek rolls his eyes at the nickname Stiles bestowed up on him when they were dating. He reaches across the counter and cups Stiles' chin. "I'm not going to answer that because you already know how I feel. Be careful, Stiles, ok?"

Stiles nods and presses a kiss against Derek's wrist. It had been hot as hell between them once but things cooled and now all that remains is a close, abiding friendship. They'd shared a few random overnighters because, well – _hot as hell_. Nothing since Matt, however. Stiles grins and walks toward Jackson's room.

The doctor thinks he might find the nerve to try again if Jackson Whittemore is stupid enough to pass up Stiles.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: WARNING: Details about domestic abuse incident.**

* * *

Jackson looks at his reflection. Tears well and he brings his fist up only to find it stopped.

"You just got your cast off, handsome," Stiles says softly. "Let's not get it back, ok?"

"Leave … me alone, Stilinski," Jackson growls.

"Fat chance, Whittemore … come on – back to bed," Stiles grins, guiding Jackson by his elbow.

Jackson sits slowly down on the bed. He looks up at the man whose guest bed he's been sleeping in for two weeks.

"Why … are you bothering … Stilinski?" Jackson grinds out.

Stiles helps Jackson ease back against the pillows. "Because of your sunshiny personality, Jax."

"Fuck you, Stilinski," Jackson said.

Stiles flinches slightly which makes Jackson feel like a jerk. The look disappears and he's Stiles again.

"Keep it up and you won't get pudding with your lunch," Stiles teases.

Jackson rolls his eyes but bites his tongue. Stiles keeps him off-balance with his kindness. He doesn't know how to deal with that so he lashes out unkindly.

He looks around the room again when Stiles leaves to get lunch. Small but neat, the room has a single twin bed, highboy and a closet. It's exactly the opposite of the usual comfort he's used to and yet. And yet. Jackson feels safe here. Safe as he hasn't felt since someone he thought he could trust told him how 'pretty' he was at 12. Jackson learned in blood how people saw him and he believes the lesson to this day.

From the kitchen, Jackson hears a crash and a shouted, "FUCK!"

Jackson moves as quickly as he can to the kitchen. There, he sees Stiles picking up the debris of broken plates, chips and sandwiches. He looks up miserably.

"Dude, I am probably the worst waiter in the world," Stiles sighs.

Jackson gives him a crooked grin. "Pizza … night."

Stiles smiles back. "I like the way you think, Jax."

* * *

Later, stretched out on the couch and a few lonely pieces of a super supreme between them, Jackson grins at Stiles. "Miss … junk food."

"Yeah? What, you a health nut?"

Jackson smirks. "This …" – he indicates himself – "… takes … work …"

"Really? Hell, I could work all my life and never look that good, handsome," Stiles laughs.

Jackson looks at Stiles whose attention is focused on the television and whatever inane reality show they're watching. He thinks Stiles underestimates himself. Lifting his paper plate, Jackson flicks an olive at the other man.

Stiles blinks when the small black missile hits his cheek. He looks over in shock. "Really, dude? I could _so _take you right now. Maybe not when you're 100%, but right now your ass is mine!"

The evening devolves into the messiest and stupidest pizza food fight in the history of the world. When it's over, Stiles has cheese in his hair, Coke on his shirt and Jackson is laughing so hard he thinks he might wet himself. His ribs ache mercilessly but he doesn't care. He has pizza sauce smeared on his face and pizza crust down his shirt – and Jackson doesn't give a fuck, which is a revelation in itself.

"Dude, you are not getting out of clean-up duty just because you're recuperating!" Stiles warns but without any real intention of forcing Jackson to clean house.

"What … ever," Jackson says with a big smile. "I can … take you …"

Stiles pulls a string of cheese from his hair and gives Jackson a rueful look. "Uh-huh … go get cleaned up, Jax. I'll start in here."

Jackson tries to move fast but by the time he is done, Stiles has the mess well in hand. Jackson walks into the living room and freezes. Stiles blots a stain on the couch with his back to Jackson. The soda made Stiles' shirt sticky so he removed it without remembering that Jackson had never seen him without a long-sleeved shirt the entire time they've known each other. Stiles looks over his shoulder when he hears a softly uttered, "_Fuck_."

"Jax? What -?" Stiles begins.

It dawns on the paramedic what Jackson is seeing and he scrambles for his discarded shirt, which is lying over a chair near Jackson. Jackson is faster for once and snatches it away. Stiles' face darkens.

"Dude … do not push me. Give it back," he growls.

"No."

Jackson takes a step backwards and nearly trips trying to avoid Stiles over reaching grab. Stiles is nearly in tears out of frustration. He could just push past Jackson and go get another shirt, but he can't be rational about this one thing in his life. He never could.

"Please … Jax … don't …"

Jackson reaches out and presses a hand against Stiles' cheek. "Do you think … I _care_?"

Stiles meets Jackson's blue-green eyes. "Wh-what?"

Jackson rolls his eye. "Look at … me. Do you … care? You … say you … don't."

"Dude, of course I don't, it's just … different …"

"How?"

Stiles pulls away from Jackson and goes to his room. Jackson waits for the door slam but it never comes. Stiles returns, wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt. He gestures toward the couch.

"You need to sit down before you fall down, Jax," Stiles says woodenly.

Jackson obeys, wondering if he pushed too hard and is about to get the 'this isn't working' speech. The thought makes his chest hurt. He moves slowly but surely to the couch and eases down on it, surprised at how stiff his muscles already are.

"You want a beer?" Stiles offers. "I don't think one is gonna screw with your meds too much and I need something stronger than a Coke."

* * *

Once again, they sit on the couch but the atmosphere is much less comfortable. Jackson fears he's screwed up … again.

"Stiles, I'm sorry –"

Stiles holds up a hand. "Not your fault, Jax. I just … yeah, let's just say I'm a work in progress, ok?"

Jackson nods somberly. "Fair. Me … too."

Stiles chuckles then runs his hand over his face. Jackson watches the muscles ripple along his arm and the shiny scars that line it. "So how do you want it? Sugar coated or right between the eyes?"

Jackson cocks his head in a 'please' expression. Stiles smiles briefly before focusing on a corner of the room. When he starts talking, it's a flat sound that makes Jackson's throat grow tight.

"So I met this guy … Matt. He was a sideliner like me … nobody noticed him much. He took pictures for the local paper and did some free-lancing. We ran into each other at a lacrosse game … he was taking shots for his own portfolio. This was way after Derek and –" Stiles turns at a disbelieving sound from Jackson.

"You … _dated_ … Derek? My … doctor, Derek?" Jackson asks.

Stiles' eyes narrow. "Yeah … why?"

Jackson holds up his hands in surrender. "Nothing … just … _damn_. That is … a _fine_ piece of man … you have … good taste."

Stiles snorts. "Of course I do. We just didn't really click … or maybe we did and I just missed it. I dunno. We hooked up every now and then after but then I met Matt."

Jackson notes how at Matt's name, Stiles' voice goes flat again.

"Stiles … you don't have … to tell …" Jackson's words slur a little. He's getting tired.

"I know. I want to, ok? Scottie's the only one who's seen me like this lately. I usually don't … well, you know."

Jackson nods and gestures for Stiles to continue. The young man takes a long drink of his beer and holds it in front of him.

"Usual dumb ass love stuff … he was charming and funny and pretty awesome. In the beginning. He treated me like a king … I thought he was it … I was so into him I didn't notice the way things were changing," Stiles says softly. "He'd get upset if I was late after shift … he checked my phone like a thousand times to see who was calling, who was texting. I kept telling myself it meant he really wanted _me_. I mean, I've never been much of a looker. Derek and I got together because of work. It was convenient for us, I think."

Jackson keeps his opinion on that to himself. He's seen the way Derek follows Stiles around with his eyes. He didn't think anything of it until now … now he sees it for what it is. Derek still cares. Why that makes him a little sick to his stomach he doesn't want to ponder.

"Anyway … I joined in a pick-up lacrosse game after work one day … it was just a bunch of the guys at work. Derek was there and we always horsed around before and after we got together. Just … buds, you know?"

Jackson nods.

"Matt must've left me fifty texts and filled my voicemail. He was so pissed he couldn't get ahold of me. I came in the door and he fine … just wanted to know where the hell I'd been. My phone was dead so I didn't find out about the texts and stuff till later. When I told him, he asked if Derek was there … God I should have seen that one!" Stiles sighs shakily. "I just babbled on about the game like I normally did … Derek made a couple of awesome saves … and in the middle of it, he picks up my stick and slams it into my ribs."

Jackson winces. Recent memory notwithstanding, he knows how much the first hit can hurt when it's someone you care about … it always catches you by surprise and leaves you wondering what twilight zone you fell into.

"I didn't even know how to react. Next thing I know he's screaming in my face about screwing Derek and that we're over and – and I just laid there. He hit me three times with that thing … and I just took it." Stiles blinks at the memory as if he doesn't recognize the person he was then. "It went down after that … I quit hanging out with anyone … me and Scott barely got along because Matt hated him. So many people tried to tell me and I wouldn't see it. Matt was so great when he wasn't … like that. Guy was romantic and sexy as hell … he'd tell me how awesome I was … how he didn't deserve me. I bought it all and told myself I'd never find someone to feel that _intensely_ about me ever again so I better hold on."

Jackson closes his eyes. He's been told a lot of things in his life … none of them by people he trusted. He knows how easy it is to cling, however. Cling to anything and everything that makes the person in the mirror someone you don't completely despise. Doesn't always work but sometimes it lets him actually _see_ himself. Stiles coughs and continues.

"Scott knew … of course he knew. Derek … I think Derek knew too. No one said much because they knew I'd throw it back at them," Stiles says sadly. "I was such a shit to them … I did to them what Matt did to me … made them think they'd lose me forever if they said or did anything. Scott … hell, he needs as much counseling as I do after all it. He feels so fucking guilty. I did that … I made him feel like the worst friend ever when all he wanted was to save me."

Stiles sniffs loudly and Jackson presses a foot against his thigh. Stiles absently reaches down and squeezes it. He leaves his hand there and Jackson feels like he's being electrocuted with how good it feels to have Stiles touch him.

"So one night I was late … stupid Jeep died. My phone was dead … again. I was so scared, Jax. I ran all the way into town trying to make it back in time," Stiles wipes at his eyes. "I got a tow, got home … Matt was in bed already. I played it off … no big thing. He didn't say much … and then he … he starts kissing me when I get in bed. We end up having sex but he's not ready to be done and I'm so relieved he's not hitting me, I just go along. We ended up out here … over by the fireplace. It was winter … we built up the fire and I thought I had romantic Matt on my hands. Wrong."

Jackson moves slowly to sit closer, still facing Stiles, feet tucked under his thigh but his arms hugging his knees. He feels like his heart is going to pound out of his chest.

"He fucked me hard and I didn't notice he left the poker in the fire. It was bright red by the time he got around to what he had in mind." Stiles shakes. "He said he had to make sure I remembered whose I was … who I belong to … "

Jackson unfolds and gathers Stiles against him when the tears come in earnest. He doesn't recognize himself … he's never cared about another person like this. Jackson wants to reach back in time and either kill Matt Daehler or give him a taste of his own medicine. He holds the shaking body tightly.

"Shhh … s'ok … you lived. Stiles … you … made it out," Jackson says.

"He … had duct tape … I couldn't move … couldn't scream through the strip he wound around my head … " Stiles sobs.

Pulling out of Jackson's embrace, he pulls off the shirt and then jerks off his sweats too. Jackson gives a strangled cry at the map of pain on Stiles' body. Lines mark the path of Matt's rampage up and down Stiles' torso and legs. The crook of the poker is outlined clearly on a shoulder blade. Jackson feels tears working out from under his eye patch to join their companions in grieving for the wounds Stiles carries. He stands and walks to Stiles as he's pulling his clothes back on in sharp, jerking motions. He enfolds the man and holds him as tight as his protesting limbs will allow. Somewhere in the middle of it, he hears what he's saying to Stiles.

"So sorry … sorry … sorry … love you … love you …" Jackson murmurs over and over again.

Stiles responds by reaching up to take Jackson's mouth in a kiss neither of them want to end.


	5. Chapter 5

Jackson tries to not groan when Stiles kisses him but he can't help it. It feels too damn good for those lips to be pressing against his … those arms sliding gently down to his hips … that soft voice whispering back.

"Love you too, Jax … god, I love you …"

When the kiss ends, neither of them wants to release the other. Stiles presses his forehead to Jackson's. He's in shock. How did he go from food fight to a confession of his darkest hour to kissing a guy he met only months ago in the back of an ambulance? It's not that he hasn't been wishing for this … sort of hoping for this … asking Jax to stay with him while he finishes his healing was less than subtle. Derek's eye-roll and dark sigh told him what the doctor thought of his idea but no one had outright stopped him.

Jackson wonders when his life became this roller coaster. He wants Stiles … but he has absolutely nothing to bring to the table. As he predicted, his johns took back what they'd given him. His car, his apartment … fortunately he always kept his bank accounts to himself, but there isn't much left. He's empty-handed. His looks … he can see vestiges of himself in the mirror now. He's going to have scars. His eye … Derek's hopeful he'll retain vision. Still … Stiles _knows_ all of this. He knows Jackson is nothing but a broken mess and yet, somehow they are standing in Stiles' living room following what Jackson considers one of the best kisses of his entire life.

"Dude, we have got to be the most screwed-up couple in town," Stiles mutters.

And just like that, Stiles accepts Jackson and all his issues. Jackson leans in and kisses Stiles, this time with intent. He's a good kisser at least. When they break, Stiles looks a little dazed.

"Agreed," Jackson replies.

"Wanna join me tonight … not for sex, although once you're healed up we are _totally_ going there. Often. Repeatedly." Stiles asks.

Jackson huffs a laugh. "Moving kinda … fast for a … first date, aren't you?"

"Is that what this was? Cuz I can do waaay better than a food fight and dumping all my emotional baggage," Stiles chuckles.

"Good. Too … tired for sex … anyway," Jackson says. He's never regretted that more than this moment but he simply doesn't have the stamina.

Stiles just kisses him in reply.

* * *

Jackson jerks upright with soul-wrenching scream. Stiles is holding him an instant later, soothing the shaking man.

"You're safe ... you're ok, safe ... nobody is gonna hurt you ... you're safe ... shh, it's safe ..." Stiles murmurs while Jackson slumps against him, crying softly.

"Damn it ... oh fucking damn it ..." Jackson groans, wiping at his eyes.

Stiles says nothing until the shaking stops. Jackson's had a few nightmares around him before – in the hospital and since he moved in. Stiles treats them based on his own remembered nightmares ... he doesn't promise it will all be ok. He only assures Jackson that for now he is safe and no one will hurt him. Jackson grunts and resettles against his pillows.

"Damn, I ... _hate_ that one ... fucking bastard," Jackson grumbles.

Stiles rolls over on his side and looks at Jackson. "Guy from the car?"

"Dear ol' dad," Jackson replies.

Stiles remains silent, knowing Jackson has to be the one to tell the tale. Jackson's hand moves between them and Stiles feels a grip that is growing stronger daily. He squeezes back gently. "I was 9 ... came in at night ... usual "be daddy's good ... boy and don't ... tell mommy". I never did ... do you know ... do you know that ... the fucker isn't ... even my real ... dad?"

Stiles squeezes again gently. Jackson sighs.

"My real mom and ... dad died in a car wreck. They cut me ... out of my mom ... saved me, let her die. I ... fuck, Stiles ... I've been screwing ... up since I was _born._"

Stiles slides closer and presses his palm against Jackson's face. "Not true, Jax. You beat the odds by bein' born at all ... by _living_."

"If ... you say I'm ... a miracle ... I will beat ... your ... ass, Stiles," Jackson warns without real heat.

"Yeah, yeah ... I get that a lot," Stiles chuckles. He sobers. "Jackson ... you're not a mistake no matter what you think, ok? Miserable at food-fights but not a mistake."

"Stiles ..."

"Nope, don't believe it, can't make me," Stiles says stubbornly.

Jackson stares at the ceiling silently.

"They think it's ... my fault ... don't they?" Jackson finally whispers.

It's exactly what scares him the most … having to look the asshole that beat him in the face and explain how his despite his chosen lifestyle he didn't 'ask for it'. He feels Stiles pull him close.

"Nobody thinks anything, Jackson. My dad knows better than anyone about that - and you know I'm along for the ride all the way," Stiles replies.

"No pity, Stilinski," Jackson warns.

"As if, dude … but you don't have to do it alone is what I meant, Jax," Stiles says. "I had … hell I had an entire _cheering section_ to get me through my bit with Matt. It helps even if you think it won't. Think it was easy telling my dad what all had been going on? About the broken ribs I taped myself so I could go to work? About pissing blood for three days because I took a hit to the kidneys? I still can't believe he didn't shoot Matt where he stood in the courtroom."

"I don't … want to do … it, Stiles. I _can't_ … do it. I just … _can't_ … " Jackson protests.

"You can, Jax," Stiles soothes. "You're one of the strongest guys I know … even with the attitude."

"Not …"

Stiles puts his hand on Jackson's bare arm. "Dude, _stop_. What did you tell me? I lived … I survived it. So did you, dumbass."

Jackson snorts. "You … suck … at pep talks."

"Maybe … you just don't know how awesome I am at other stuff," Stiles grins in the dark.

Jackson chuckles. "Getting an … idea."

Silence reigns for a few moments. "Jax?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you mean … I mean, if you just said it, I totally get that … high emotion and all. I don't want you to feel like you have to –"

"Shut up … Stiles. Meant … it, dork," Jackson growled.

"And yet I'm the one who gets berated for my communication skills," Stiles replied, annoyed.

"Shut up and ... kiss me ... idiot," Jackson responds.

Stiles obliges by maneuvering so he's over Jackson. He presses his lips softly to the other man's mouth and murmurs. "Not real romantic, bro."

Jackson doesn't both replying. He just pulls Stiles to him and kisses back. Stiles groans and before long they're panting and aching for more. Stiles pulls back and earns a growl of protest from Jackson. He smiles and kisses the tip of Jackson's nose.

"Gotta be good ... I do _not_ want to be on Melissa McCall's bad side because you decided to relapse," Stiles explains.

Jackson snorts. "Chicken."

"Yeah ... didn't see you standing up to her when she dragged you to physical therapy ... or ordering you to eat," Stiles points out.

"Whatever," Jackson pouts. "Stiles?"

"Hmm?" Stiles answers, growing suddenly sleepy.

"Meant it ... really did," Jackson whispers. "Never known ... anyone ... like you."

Stiles doesn't respond immediately and Jackson thinks he's fallen asleep. But then he feels Stiles curl close to him and pull the quilt over both of them. Warm breath ghosts across his ear.

"I love you, Jackson. Sweet dreams."

If Jackson dreams again that night, he doesn't remember it in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

One day, Stiles finds Jackson sitting on his front step looking abjectly miserable.

"Jax? Did you … did you _walk_ home?"

Jackson stares at the ground between his feet and growls, "Can't … exactly _drive_, can I?"

"Really, dude?" Stiles groans, stepping around Jackson to unlock the door. "You know at least four people at that hospital that would have given you a ride home."

Jackson glares up at Stiles. "Maybe … I wanted to, asshole."

"Asshole?" Stiles repeats as Jackson pushes slowly past him into the apartment. "Asshole? How the hell did this go from me being concerned about my boyfriend's health to being an asshole for it?"

Jackson ignores Stiles and falls down on the couch. He winces as he falls harder than he thought.

"_Easy_, Jax!" Stiles says, moving to his side worriedly. "Damn it … you gotta take it easy or you're gonna end up undoing everything!"

"Fuck off … Stilinski," Jackson growls again.

Stiles' face goes still and he regards Jackson for a minute before walking off to the bedroom. Jackson wants to go after him and apologize but he's so frustrated he can't think straight. He hurts physically and emotionally from his impromptu stroll. Jackson knows he should have asked for a ride but it's a nice day and he wanted to try it. Then he decided to check out the stupid bookstore.

Jackson lives … well, _lived_ … with the knowledge that he's good-looking. Good-looking enough to turn the heads of men _and_ women. He smiles … _smiled_ … and people generally got flustered and giggly. Not always, but enough so that he's used to it. He's not used to people going blank or blushing or trying to look anywhere but directly at him. He left the bookstore pretty quick after the cute clerk gasped and then tried to cover her faux pas by stammering and all but running away. He walked down the sidewalk as before, but now he _noticed._ He saw the stares, the quickly looking away, the shifting away from him. When he caught sight of himself in a car passenger window, Jackson realized the truth. He's seen his reflection since the incident. He knows he's not the dollface he once was but now he truly understands - he's _ugly_.

Derek, of course, assured him there was plastic surgery to be had … surgery he can't afford because whatever money he has is dwindling fast. The indigent fund will probably cover his medical stuff but the therapy is going to stop soon. Jackson knows Stiles would let him live rent-free but he actually finds himself wanting to contribute. He wants to get a job.

Jackson bites back a sob as he realizes just how fucked he is – he's never held a 'real' job in his life. He never had to … never really wanted to either. He graduated high school with good enough grades and decent lacrosse skills but college was a waste of his time back then. He found out that fucking rich people got him a lifestyle he liked … and he didn't mind so much so he kept it up. He got a few regulars and a dedicated phone line for dates and before long, the real world just sort of seemed pointless. Parties, sex, drugs, whatever … and money when he needed it. Pretty clothes and a pretty car – his pretty face and body got him all that.

Now he doesn't even have that – and Stiles thinks he's in love with Jackson. Jackson knows he loves Stiles … and because of that, he has another horrible epiphany. He has to leave. He has to walk away right now before he drags Stiles back into the darkness he just crawled out of - Jackson refuses to hold Stiles down. He knows what Matt's abuse did to the young man. Jackson knows Stiles is still recovering mentally and physically. He won't be the new anchor around Stiles' neck. He could stay and pretend it was all good but it would go sour soon. Jackson finds himself understanding what loving someone means - sacrificing what you want sometimes ... it's a terrible knowledge because Jackson knows now he can't have the bright ray of sunshine called Stiles. No pain could hurt worse than that realization.

Getting up, Jackson goes into the bedroom where Stiles lays staring at the ceiling.

"Sorry," Jackson says softly. "I'm … the … asshole."

"Not gonna argue that, Jax," Stiles says flatly.

Jackson sits on the edge of the bed. "This … is too … new, Stiles," he says. "No one … gave … a shit before."

Stiles props himself up on his elbows. "I do, Jax. I care … so you can stop treating me like such a fuck whenever I worry about you. I'm not _them_. You make me feel like … like _he_ did when you act like that. I'm not doing that again. I'm just not."

Jackson swallows. He knows he has to leave but losing Stiles hurts too much to consider. "Sorry … don't … mean it … don't mean to … hurt you," Jackson grinds out.

"What the hell possessed you to walk all the way home?" Stiles asks.

"Nice day," Jackson replies lamely.

"Nice … Jackson, you suck at lying," Stiles accuses.

Jackson shrugs.

"What happened?"

Jackson picks at the quilt before looking up. "Saw how … people … see me now."

Stiles sits up and, saying nothing, moves over to hold Jackson. "Oh babe … damn. Jax … you know _I_ don't see you like that, right?"

"Should."

Stiles tilts his boyfriend's face up. "_No_, I shouldn't. I should see you like I do … one hell of a funny and handsome guy. Besides … it's only temporary. There's –"

"Surgery I _can't afford_," Jackson says hoarsely.

"Is _that_ what this is about? Jax, we'll figure it out … money's just a way of keeping score. Granted, I'm a little behind in the standings, but we'll manage it somehow. Might take a while, but we'll get there. You can get a job –"

"Doing?"

"What?"

"Doing … _what_, Stiles?" Jackson snaps, forcing himself to stand and move away from Stiles. "Only know how … to fuck … suck … not much of … a resume."

It's getting harder to talk because he's tired, but Jackson hopes he gets his frustration through. Stiles tries so hard to see the brighter side of the world, but in this case, there isn't one. He can't even lie because once the trial starts he'll be branded as the whore he is.

Stiles gets up and wraps his arms around Jackson's waist. "You know more than just that, Jax. Although, gotta admit I am lookin' forward to test-driving those skills, dude."

Jackson huffs a laugh in spite of himself. "One-track mind."

"Yep. Easier that way," Stiles teases, taking advantage of the lighter mood in Jackson's eyes. "Jax … you are more than just all that, ok? The face we can fix. The bod is still hot and you'll be stronger before long. And you're smart enough to learn anything … hell, you hid in plain sight for _how_ long running your little entrepreneurial concern? You're not exactly below average in the smarts division dude. And – I can't stress this enough – You. Are. Not. ? You got me, you got Scott … Derek … Melissa … my _dad_ … dude, you got people behind you now. We'll figure it out."

Jackson wants too much to believe that unicorns exist like Stiles. He wants to throw all his doubts out the window and believe, for once, that he can do this – be different. And it'll all be ok.

Unfortunately, Jackson believed in fairy tales – right up till his adopted dad flipped him over on his stomach one night and made him bleed. And his adopted mother pretended nothing happened when she had to wash the sheets. Unicorns don't exist. Saying they do doesn't make it so. Jackson swallows his hope and leans in to kiss Stiles. He puts all his skill behind it and grins when Stiles has the familiar dazed look in his eyes.

"Jax, you're not –"

"My choice … not waiting … " Jackson mouths against Stiles' neck. It's been three weeks since their first kiss and Jackson knows he won't have another chance.

Stiles fights the moan as Jackson's lips work over his Adam's apple. He shivers at the feather light touch against the short hairs on his neck and he doesn't protest when Jackson starts pulling his shirt up and off.

"Jax … oh God …" Stiles' head falls back when Jackson draws the same light fingers down his chest and thumbs over one nipple. When a hot tongue laves it, Stiles _does_ moan. Jackson smiles to himself briefly before focusing on the one thing he knows he can do better than anyone - he can make Stiles feel good. Make him feel loved. It's all he can offer so he has to do his best.

Stiles is so ready, he hardly knows how he keeps from coming when Jackson finally pulls his boxers off. He eases them both over and straddles Jackson's hips. Stiles draws his hand down Jackson's torso, gently brushing against the formidably-sized cock.

"God, Jackson … you're … you're _gorgeous," _Stiles says softly.

"From guy … who banged .. _Derek fucking Hale_? Flattered …" Jackson teases.

Stiles chuckles. "Not in bed with Derek fucking Hale right now … I'm where I want to be, Jax. With you … and _you_ are fucking gorgeous."

Jackson stays quiet. He hears the familiar _yeah, right_ in his mind … the voice that assures him Stiles is saying what he thinks Jackson wants to hear so he'll get what he wants. Jackson ignores it because even if it is true … Jackson wants to feel Stiles inside him. He wants to know what noises Stiles makes when he's close. He wants to feel the warm pulse when Stiles comes and the pleasant ache when he pulls out. Jackson wants all this – so he'll have memories to replay after he leaves. Memories that aren't full of pain and fear and disgust at himself. He smiles and pulls Stiles down to him. They kiss and their erections move against each other. Stiles groans.

"Jax … want … don't want to hurt you."

"Want you … inside … me _now_, Stiles … please …," Jackson whispers urgently.

He gives Stiles a look he's perfected for so long … the 'I've never wanted anyone's cock like yours before' look. He knows it worked by the way Stiles' eyes soften. Jackson lets his fingers dance along Stiles' spine as his boyfriend preps him. When he can't fight off the groan any longer, Stiles knows Jackson is ready. He removes his fingers and slides into Jackson's body slowly.

"Fuuuck …" Stiles says slowly, achingly. "So good …"

Jackson nips against Stiles' chest. "Move … please … "

Stiles does begin to move and Jackson finds his soft pleas are less planned and more involuntary. He gasps when Stiles finds the sweet spot. Stiles is still moving slow … Jackson doesn't resist … he's only got enough strength to see him through this much … any more would exhaust him. Besides, this way his memories will be better … clearer. Jackson releases a helpless sob as the pleasure peaks and he can't hold back any longer. Stiles whispers to him.

"That's it, baby … so gorgeous … so fucking fine … love you so much …" Stiles drifts off into nonsensical babbling as his own orgasm overwhelms him.

"Love you … love you …" Jackson is riding a surprise second wave and he can't stop saying the words. He loves Stiles. He wants this man so much … needs him … can't possibly have him. It makes him sob again as emotion and pleasure overtake Jackson's control.

Stiles mistakes the tears for simple emotion about what they've just shared. Jackson smiles tiredly and lets himself be pulled into Stiles embrace. They kiss softly for what feels like a long time before finally succumbing to sleep.

* * *

Stiles wakes up around 1:30 am and feels the empty coolness of the space beside him. He flips on the light and sleepily calls for Jackson, thinking he's in the bathroom. Then he sees the notepaper on the other pillow. Swallowing, Stiles unfolds it and Jackson's driver's license falls out. He holds it while reading the note with tears running down his face.


	7. Chapter 7

Jackson smiles at the reflection in the mirror. _Finally_ the swelling is down on his jawline. He grins at the face that peeks over his shoulder.

"I wouldn't have paid for the surgery if I'd known all you'd do is stare at yourself, gorgeous," the slender businessman says, drawing a cold, dry finger down Jackson's face.

Jackson fights down a shudder and gives the man a sultry smirk. "Have I forgotten to tell you thank you again, baby? Whatever's become of my manners?"

Jackson turns and slides slowly down the man's suited body until his knees hit the floor. He looks up at the man from under his lashes and pouts ever so slightly. "Can Jackson play with Little Bill?"

The man shivers and nods, licking his lips. "Yeah … oh yeah, baby, let me see those pretty pretty lips on me."

Jackson undoes the belt and then uses his teeth to pull down the zipper. He smiles as he nuzzles and gives tiny kitten licks to what he pulls out of the man's boxers. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at the noises the man makes when he starts in earnest.

The man is William Barrow … normally a suit in charge of several regional power plants. Jackson ran into him after his first john split after getting a conscience and returning to his wife. He was still scarred and still depressed after leaving Stiles. William, or 'Billy' as he goes by with Jackson, acted concerned and sympathetic. Jackson gave him a pity fuck the first night … in the dark in some no-name motel on the interstate. A few weeks later, Jackson had the settlement money from Harris and he'd gotten his first nip/tuck. Billy liked what he saw and Jackson fucked him again. This time he got a little more than money on the nightstand. Barrow offered to pay for all his work … providing Jackson played the games Billy wanted to play. Jackson said yes and really, what's being tasered compared to getting his face back the way it used to be? It just stings like a bitch and it's over.

Later, when Billy is sound asleep and Jackson's free to wander the hotel room – no more of those shitty by-the-hour places – he stands on the balcony and wonders what Stiles is doing. He left town as soon as he could – blow-jobs let him hitch into a suburb of L.A. He looks at the city lights and wishes things would have been different.

Jackson knows Stiles probably hates him. He deserves that. If not for leaving, then definitely for selling out and taking a settlement in exchange for his silence about Adrian Harris and the attack. He knows he freed Harris to do what he did again but Jackson tells himself he doesn't care. He has what he wanted … a way to make it through the world. True, he's still got scars in various places on his body, but those'll be gone soon. Barrow pays well and Jackson's squirreling away as much as he can. Barrow pays for him to live in the hotel and Jackson has another Porsche to drive around.

Barrow doesn't care if Jackson fucks other men but he's promised him a shitload of pain if he brings anything back to their little playtime. Jackson knows better than to push his luck so he goes for his monthly checks and never rides bareback. It's back to the same old but Jackson knows this path. It'll lead straight to Hell but at least he'll know where he's going and how he's gonna get there. Jackson curses softly when he feels the metal contacts of Barrow's taser on his neck but then he's falling out of his chair and Barrow is shoving his dick down Jackson's throat. He grunts and rolls his eyes back as though he loves every minute.

Maybe his road is already done because Jackson thinks he's in Hell right now.

* * *

Derek Hale looks down at the address on his phone and then back up with a frown. The Skyline Hotel rises like a chic work of art from the street. He slides his shades back on and walks in, not surprised to find it bustling with shops and places that cater to the hotel guests as well as certain visitors. He finds the reservation desk and gives the clerk his broadest smile. She melts obligingly when he leaves her the impression that he swings both ways and could be tempted. He walks to the elevator with Jackson's room number and the clerk's home number.

_Told you I could flirt, Scott_, Derek thinks to himself.

* * *

Jackson is just lounging around the hotel room today watching tv in nothing but his jeans. He doesn't have a date with Barrow and he's too bored to bother with going to a club. He'll order room service later and watch a movie. It's nice to have an evening on his own, actually. He groans when the door rings.

"What?" Jackson grouses as he opens the door on its security bar.

"Hello to you too, Jackson," Derek says with a smile. There is no humor in it.

"What the fuck do _you_ want, Hale?" Jackson snarls.

"Let me in," Derek orders.

"What? You show up and –"

Derek leans close to the door and Jackson's face. "Let me in or I will make sure to undo every place they glued or stapled you."

"Threats, Hale?"

"Promises. You fucked over Stiles and you need to hear what I have to say about that, Whittemore. Then you can go back to being a fuck-toy whore again," Derek says softly. His eyes seem to flash as he talks.

Jackson sighs loudly and lets Derek in – he growls when the doctor pushes his way into the hotel room and walks straight to the bar. He pours a drink while Jackson turns off the tv, sits on one of the other barstools and folds up one leg. After a shot, Derek looks up with barely controlled fury.

"Why?"

Jackson rolls his eyes. "You drive up here from Beacon Hills and you ask me 'why'?"

"Answer the question, Jackson," Derek demands. "He _trusted_ you … and you ripped his heart out."

"Guess he won't do that again," Jackson says lightly.

Derek's hand darts out and drags Jackson forward until their faces are inches apart. "Do not push me, Whittemore. He believed in you and you fucked him over. I want to know why."

Jackson jerks out of Derek's grasp and stalks off, back to the doctor. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Hale. Figured you'd be glad – freed him up for you."

"Freed – you know, you're a moron. Stiles loved you, asshole. He loved you and he trusted you … I never had a fucking chance," Derek says.

Jackson turns and regards Derek steadily. "You love him, don't you?"

"Always did but he never felt the same … not to the level he thought I deserved. We broke up and I tried to get him back but he didn't want to lead me on. You know … because he's a decent human being!" Derek snaps. "No, he felt that way about _you_ … some random rent-boy he scraped off the ground when his john beat the living shit out of him."

"Think you're telling me anything I don't know? Newsflash: already knew I was a lost cause when I met him," Jackson retorts.

"Damn you … he _believed_ in you … doesn't that mean anything to you?" Derek demands.

Jackson looks back out the window. It means everything … _meant_ everything. He would have given anything to see that look in Stiles' eyes for the rest of his life. As normal, he fucked it all up by just being himself.

"Whatever it meant, it doesn't any more. Stiles is better off this way … better off without me. Trust me … he deserves someone like you … I mean that. Someone … who'll do something with his life," Jackson says softly.

"Again … you're a moron," Derek says. Jackson yelps because the man is standing right behind him. "Stiles saw something in you … none of us were sure what but he believed in you and so did we. I thought you were going to at least try to make it work."

"What was I going to try, exactly, Hale? Being his pet fuck-toy? 'Cause that's all I'm good at … it's all I know how to do. Not exactly how he wanted me to bring in rent money," Jackson says tiredly. "I was useless … I didn't even have the looks to pull it off any more and I couldn't afford to pay for the surgery."

"Obviously you found a way," Derek observes.

"Yeah … on my knees doing what I know. Judge all you want, I got all this by sucking and fucking and that is all I'll ever be good for, ok? Stiles deserves better. He always did, he just wouldn't admit it to himself," Jackson says softly.

Derek says nothing for a while then he sighs. "He might deserve better, Jackson but he _wanted_ you. He was so in love with you he couldn't see straight, don't you know that?"

Jackson blinks hard, fighting back tears. He looks up at Derek. "Yeah, well he wasn't alone in that at least. I loved … I _love_ him, Derek. I never wanted things to go this way but you and me live in the real world. I'm no rare and wonderful unicorn, Hale. He'll find one but it isn't me. It'll never _be_ me. Ok?"

Derek shakes his head. "Legend says unicorns had no self-control … they were as wild in their love as they were in everything else. Only a pure spirit could capture and tame them … but _only_ if the unicorn wanted to be captured. And once caught, the unicorn could never love another. Guess what, Jackson … you let yourself be caught."

"And you read too much … look, Derek … Stiles is better off. Period. Now get the fuck out and have a nice life, ok?"

Derek turns to leave but when he gets to the door, he looks back at Jackson. "He wouldn't get out of bed for a week after you left. Now he … he met this older guy named Duke. I don't know but I think – Jackson, I think this guy is like Matt. Only maybe worse."

Jackson keeps his face carefully unemotional. "Guess you better watch out for him, then, Derek."

Derek starts to step toward Jackson, then stops. "Yeah, guess so. Take care of yourself, Jackson."

Derek leaves and Jackson sits down on the edge of his bed, shaking. He knows full-well who Duke is … he spent a couple of very painful nights with the man in Beacon Hills. He's a predator who makes you believe you're all he needs right up until he starts hurting you. Starts teaching you that pain is what you _want_. Starts making you believe you can't exist unless he's in your life. He paid well-enough but Jackson didn't like the money he made _that_ much. He bid Duke farewell after the bastard tried to brand him with his ring and a lighter. To think that his Stiles is being hurt by that … Jackson pauses. Stiles is not _his_ anymore. He owes Stiles nothing.

_Or_, Jackson thinks as he falls back on the bed. _Do I owe him everything?_


	8. Chapter 8

Jackson walks into the apartment and is immediately the center of attention. He knows it and so does his date, Billy. Billy presses a hand into Jackson's back. Men and women want to be with Jackson ... and Billy doesn't share.

Jackson grins and turns to kiss Billy's temple. "Aww ... jealous, babe?"

"Jackson ..."

Jackson's arm slides around Billy's waist. "I know who I'm goin' home with, babe. No worries, ok?"

Billy relaxes, making Jackson smile. The man is a shark in the corporate world and when they go on shopping trips he's brutal in outfitting Jackson in the best and most expensive of anything. But on dates he's sometimes so insecure it's almost adorable. Not that Jackson wants to tease Billy that way ... his insecurity is cute to a point. Past that and Jackson will find his dick being zapped in punishment for embarrassing his boyfriend.

A man wearing glasses with darkened lenses walks up - the host of the party. Jackson finds it hard to breathe suddenly. Deucalion, or "Duke" approaches them ... he's a handsome businessman who's done well in several different ventures. Barrow has met him at various other parties because their likes are similar as are the likes of all the other attendees at this party. If Jackson wasn't already servicing Billy, he'd be scoping the party for his next patron.

Duke's likes might have been too much for Jackson, but he knows neither he nor Billy can afford to really dismiss the man. The lavish apartment displays only a fraction of his wealth. Jackson remembers the man's vanity and decides to use that.

"Duke! Love the new place!" Jackson says brightly, looking around. "Some housewarming."

Duke's smile slithers across his face. "Always the flatterer, Jackson ... and pretty as ever. Billy, you must tell me who you sent him to - the work is exquisite."

Jackson lets Billy tell all about the plastic surgery he paid for, making sure his body language tells Duke that he's taken. Billy, of course, eats that up and plays his part perfectly. Duke turns and frowns into the crowd. "One moment."

Jackson watches as Duke wades through the crowd and follows his path. For the second time in a few moments, Jackson's heart and breath steal away. Duke walks up to a fashionably dressed young man with an unruly mop of dark hair. Stiles. Jackson sees the dark hair shake and then sees Duke's hand tighten on Stiles' upper arm. Jackson tenses. Billy frowns.

"Isn't that - ?" Billy begins.

Jackson chuckles and looks over at his date. "Old boyfriend, Billyboy. Nobody worth worrying your handsome little head about ... besides, looks like he's Duke's new plaything these days."

Jackson's mouth tastes like ash as he so coldly dismisses his relationship with Stiles. He feels bile rising in his throat as the two men walk over to them. He pastes a smile on his face as Duke pulls Stiles over with a hard grip on his arm.

"Billy ... Jackson ... meet Stiles ... he's feeling rather contrary tonight," Duke says. The smile he sports does not reach his eyes.

"Yeah, I _told_ you I know Jax ... traded up again, huh, Jackson?" Stiles sneers.

Duke tightens his grip and Stiles winces. Jackson chuckles lightly and sips at the champagne Billy grabbed for him from a passing waiter. He _tsks_.

"Stiles, darling ... still holding a grudge? I hardly think you traded _down_, babe," Jackson winks at Duke. The man relaxes and the grip on Stiles eases.

"Stiles is ... often unappreciative of my attentions," Duke says smoothly. His British accent grates on Jackson's ear.

Jackson makes a non-committal noise and turns to lead Billy farther into the room. He glances over his shoulder. "Oh, he's young, Duke. Give him a break ... he'll come around."

Walking away, Jackson tries hard not to hear the whine of pain that follows him. Duke is making Stiles pay for his attitude. Jackson keeps Billy's attention until they run into other businessmen that work with his date. Jackson quickly grows bored with the technical talk and wanders off in search of hors d'oeuvres_. _He finds a waiter who takes a liking to him and is soon tasting several delicious options without having to move from his bar stool. The bartender is a young blonde who keeps his drink filled. As long as all hands are kept to themselves, Jackson knows Billy won't mind a little flirting. He checks over to the group where Billy stands just to test the temperature. His date is caught up in the boring conversation so he's ok for now.

Jackson swallows back the good whiskey and feels little pain. A few more drinks and he'll be in good condition to take whatever games Billy wants to play tonight. Tiresome and somewhat painful, but if he plays his cards right, he might be able to get a new suit out of it. Maybe the new Bremont watch he's been lusting after – it's six grand, easy so he knows he'll really have to sell his performance tonight.

"Having fun," Stiles' voice breaks into Jackson's musing.

Jackson turns a slow gaze over to the young man. He looks him up and down. Jackson knows the shirt and jeans set Stiles is wearing cost nearly two thousand dollars. Far out of an EMT's salary.

"Looks like you are," Jackson returns, winking at the bartender when she refills his drink. "Duke's got you all prettied up tonight."

"Oh yeah ... I'm his pretty little puppy, alright. Jealous?"

Jackson laughs. "Hardly, kid. Been there, done that," Jackson tugs the collar of Stiles' tshirt down. He sees the tell-tale bruising from a dog's choke collar. "He try taking you for walkies yet?"

Stiles bats Jackson's hand away with a fierce blush. "Fuck you!" He reaches over and pulls on Jackson's dress shirt till the buttons give. "Fuck. You."

"Nope ... think that was _me _fucking _you,_ babe ..." Jackson retorts, pitching his voice to taunt.

Jackson doesn't want to hurt Stiles like this ... he wishes he could just go back and be the scarred, broken man who slept in the curve of Stiles' body. He can smell the expensive cologne Stiles is wearing ... nothing that the young man would have chosen for himself. He relents.

"Stiles ... I don't – I don't want to do this. Why are you with Duke anyway? He's a jerk ... major one."

Stiles snorts and grabs Jackson's drink, downing it in one gulp. "Sound like Scott ... and Derek. Why? What the fuck do you care, Jax? You left ... got what you wanted."

Jackson grabs Stiles' shaking hand. "I left because I wanted you to have a chance to do better than me. Duke's rich but he doesn't really count as _better_. Go figure."

"Yeah, go figure, Jax. Finally you think you're the better asshole. _You_ were all I wanted! You were – nevermind ... just fuck you. I -"

Stiles doesn't get to say anything else. Duke comes up and closes his hand around Stiles wrist and twists ... hard. Stiles whines but Duke doesn't release him.

"Thought we _discussed_ this, Stiles ... thought I _told _you to _behave_ yourself," Duke says flatly. He twists again and Jackson hears the muffled sound of something cracking.

Jackson grabs Duke's arm. "Hey! Let go of him, you _fucker_!"

Duke does. He then grabs the whiskey glass and slams it into the side of Jackson's face. Jackson has a glance at Duke's eyes ... they are wild and devoid of sanity. He's seen a look like that once before – Adrian Harris' eyes when he was beating Jackson into oblivion. Jackson crumples, his face bleeding. Stiles cries out and tries to pull Duke away, but the man turns on him and his fist connects with Stiles' jaw.

Jackson barely remembers the next few minutes. When he sees Stiles fall, the skin on his cheek split and cradling his broken arm against him, something gives inside him. He surges up and slams into Duke's midsection. He remembers pounding his fist into Duke's face over and over but he forgets that the man is built. He looks at the ceiling of the apartment when Duke flips them over. Then a fist that could easily have been made of stone slams into his jaw and he feels teeth give.

_ Fuck ... maybe this wasn't such a good idea _ ... It's the last coherent thought that Jackson has for the evening.

* * *

"Seriously, Jackson?" Derek growls down at his patient. "Do you _ have _ a death wish? What the _ fuck _ is wrong with you?"

Jackson is swimming in and out of consciousness as he watches the lights in the corridor go by. He can feel something pressing on either side of his head, keeping it immobile. Jackson doesn't care. He only has one thought right now.

"Hilezz? Hi-hilezz?!"

Derek frowns and then it dawns on him what Jackson is saying. "Stiles ... you know, you two are pathetic ... Stiles in surgery."

At Jackson's terrified protests, Derek soothes him. "Nothing fatal ... his arm is broken in three places ... have to put in the pins."

Jackson eases. "Ahree ahree ... plee ... ahree ..."

Derek leans in close. "You're sorry? You better be sorry, Jackson ... I swear to God if you two don't figure it out this time, I'll tear your fucking throats out with my _ teeth." _

Jackson would nod but he's sinking again. Stiles is ok ... or he will be. Jackson wonders if he has the balls to do this – a _ real _ relationship. Guess he's about to find out.


End file.
